


baby, you're making a fool of me

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Segs is done,” are the first words out of Freddy’s mouth, once Tyler’s got past the confusion of Freddy calling him. They haven’t spoken in a few months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, you're making a fool of me

**Author's Note:**

> Career-ending injury mentioned in this, click away if that's not your thing. Thanks ukiyo91 for the beta!

\--

Tyler’s at a team dinner in South Carolina when he gets the call from Freddy. Freddy, who’s in Dallas at the game.

It’s not good.

“Segs is done,” are the first words out of Freddy’s mouth, once Tyler’s got past the confusion of Freddy calling him. They haven’t spoken in a few months.

“Excuse me?” Tyler says, the words not making sense. Like, he understands the sentence in general, but-- Segs?

“He went down. Dallas are playing Boston. Lucic hit him bad, his knee-- it doesn’t look good. They’re saying he’s done.” Freddy’s breathing fast, his sentences disjointed and the panic is starting to settle in Tyler’s bones the longer Freddy talks. The more Tyler learns.

He feels a tug somewhere deep inside, and tries to squash it. It doesn’t work. The tug keeps growing, and the dark emptiness in his head aches for something just outside its reach.

Freddy bonded with his girlfriend two months ago.

Tyler’s yet to bond, as has most of their crew.

He hangs up on Freddy and swallows-- the steak gets caught in his throat, his mouth dry and his pulse racing-- and starts to fumble with his jacket. He needs to go. He’s gotta-- he’s gotta _go_. Segs will need him. It’s time.

Esco frowns from his seat across the table, and kicks Tyler in the ankle.

“You okay, bro?” he asks. Tyler doesn’t trust himself to nod, just throws a fistful of notes on the table, finally grabs his jacket, and just leaves.

He’s on the next plane to Dallas before he can question himself.

 

* * *

 

One month, two complete knee reconstructions and three days of rehab later, Tyler’s sitting on the edge of Segs’ bed.

Segs’ face is tight, the painkillers only there to take the edge off, not to deaden and dull anymore. His knee is covered in scars, swollen from the day’s rehab, and Segs hasn’t touched his lunch.

“You need to eat,” Tyler sighs, poking the sandwich with an outstretched finger. He doesn’t acknowledge that it shakes. Segs moves his head away, and looks out his window.

“Not hungry,” Segs mutters. Tyler pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Seggy,” he starts. Segs’ fingers curl into a fist, and Tyler pulls back.

 

* * *

 

Greenville are out of the playoffs.

Tyler empties his locker, does one interview for locker clean out day, and says goodbye to Esco and Clarky, whom he’s lived with since preseason. He’ll miss Connecticut.

He touches down in Toronto just after lunch, and gets a cab straight to the CT Tower.

Segs has refused to move, even though it’s inconvenient as fuck.

It’s been three months.

 

* * *

 

Jackie and Cassidy are at the condo when Tyler arrives, lugging his gear bag and two massive suitcases. He kind of wishes he’d driven, because Segs uses Uber for everything now. Last Tyler had heard, he hasn’t driven since he got injured.

“Oh, Tyler,” Jackie says as soon as she sees him. Her eyes fill up with tears and she all but collapses into his arms, wearing wet marigold gloves as Cassidy dries the dishes.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asks. Cassidy gives a shuddery sigh from where she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, almost hugging herself.

“Ty’s not having a good day. He’ll really love that you’re here,” she whispers. Jackie squeezes him tighter and pulls back, her eyes watery.

“We _all_ love that you’re here,” is all she says.

Dallas made it into the playoffs, apparently. So did Boston. They’ve been wearing 91 decals on their helmets since Tyler was forced to retire.

 

-

 

When Tyler gets into Segs’ room, he can smell the misery on the air. It makes his stomach roil, and the dark space in the base of his skull sings for it. Tyler swallows and forces on inside.

Segs is in bed, his usual place to be found these days, with Marshall and Cash curled up beside him. The television is on mute, playing a highlight reel. Tyler isn’t looking at it.

“Brownie?” Segs’ voice is flat in the dimmed light, the curtains drawn. Tyler drums out a slow beat on his thighs, a one-two-three that’s supposed to ground him, supposed to _recenter his bond chi_. It’s not working.

That darkness, that _emptiness_ in his head, it’s aching so badly. It’s aching for Segs, reaching out, trying to make that connection that Tyler’s kept denying since he met Segs. Segs at sixteen wasn’t ready for the OHL, let alone a bond. Tyler wasn’t ready either.

He thinks now is an even worse time than then.

He opens his mouth, ready to tell Segs he’s spent long enough sulking over his life, long enough mourning the _thing_ that he lost. Ready to tell him to open a fucking window, to take the dogs for the walk that Jackie and Cassidy shouldn’t be in charge of doing. Ready to enrol in a college course, get some sort of education, or even take up one of the four job offers the NHL has given him in some capacity.

Instead--

“We’re bond compatible,” is what comes out.

Segs says nothing at first. The air conditioner clicks on, the soft drone blending into the Mavs game that's now on the television.

“I know,” Segs says. Tyler blinks.

“You know?” he asks dumbly, because _what_.

Segs sits up and walks up to Tyler, stopping a half-inch away, so Tyler could just tilt his head and kiss Segs, if he wanted.

“I’ve known since I was sixteen. At first I thought, hey, maybe it’s because I’m not legal. And then I turned eighteen and nothing happened, so then I thought… maybe it’s because I’m not a real hockey player yet. But then Boston drafted me, and still nothing. I won a Stanley, nothing. I got traded to Dallas, nothing. I got injured, fucking _nothing_. So then I just thought, maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe I’m too fucked up, too broken, too not good eno--”

Tyler can’t take it anymore, can’t take the rush of words spilling from Segs lips in the longest period of conversation they’ve had for months. Does the only thing he knows to do and lets _go_ , falls into the darkness and opens it up, lets the whining, yearning mess reach for Segs and presses their lips together, overwhelmed.

Segs gasps against his mouth but clutches his hands in Tyler’s shirt as their minds clash together, Tyler’s knees almost giving out and sending them both crashing to the ground.

Segs still has enough upper body strength to pull them back to the bed, Tyler collapsing on top of him as they kiss, diving into everything Segs offers up.

None of the pamphlets, none of the classes, none of it can explain how it feels to bond. Tyler isn’t sure he even knows the words to explain the sense of rightness, of completeness that washes over him as Segs floods into his head, into his heart and soul and complete being.

Segs sighs as Tyler pulls away, his fingers still clenched in Tyler’s shirt. “Holy shit,” he breathes, the same thought and feeling rushing through Tyler’s veins. He can feel the wonderment, the amazement at the bond, the deep love that Segs has for him that overwhelms, _almostnearlycompletely_.

“What happens now?” Tyler asks, because he never planned for this. Neither of them planned for this.

Segs shrugs, letting go of Tyler’s shirt and moving to nose against his throat.

“I move with you to Connecticut, learn how to make a mean lasagna, and you make me a kept man. Sounds pretty easy to me.”

Tyler snorts, because that is literally the biggest load of shit he’s ever heard. They are not in any easy space by any means, and adding a bond to their issues is just--

“Okay then,” Tyler says. Because what else is there?

“Okay, then,” Segs echoes.

 

* * *

 

Segs never does figure out how to make a mean lasagna. But he can grill a steak like nobody’s business, and being an east coast househusband looks good on him. Even if some mornings the wakes up with a stiff leg and enough resentment to stir Tyler from a deep sleep.

“Babe?” Tyler murmurs one morning, when the bitterness is particularly cutting.

It’s almost instantaneous though, how the thrum of anger recedes and something else entirely overtakes it, something deep and warm and golden, like honey and slow summer mornings.

“Yeah,” Segs breathes out, moving to lie over Tyler and kiss him hello.

 _Things aren’t perfect_ , Tyler thinks as Segs makes his way down the bed, kissing a wet trail as he goes. _But we’re getting there_.

 _Yeah_ , Segs thinks back at him.

Then they don’t think much of anything at all, after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say [hi](http://cathedralhearts.tumblr.com/), I want to avoid unpacking all my boxes from moving house this weekend.


End file.
